


Tale of two princes

by HolyEmpress



Category: Ensemble Stars! (Video Game)
Genre: Illness, M/M, blood mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 00:38:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11680377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HolyEmpress/pseuds/HolyEmpress





	1. Chapter 1

The castle on top of the last hill is lonely.

 

He takes a few, hesitant steps toward the wooden doors, but doesn’t knock, the peculiar silence around him enough to make his will falter. Truly, within these walls, there would be nothing to learn, only time wasted going through books he’d already learned with a nobleman of no interest whatsoever, and he’d leave frustrated.

But this was the last stop on his journey ; the very last part of the world he hadn’t explored in his long travels toward knowledge and mastery, the conclusion of ten ambitious years spent conquering every skill this universe had to offer. This was his duty, as a prince, to come back to his country after this.

 

He had to knock on this door for the long dream to end ; to resign himself that the hope that life would never bore him – was nothing more than the frail, childish illusion of a book-loving prince. He had to lose this brilliant idealism, leave behind the last fragment of a _boy_ that laid within his heart and become the wise ruler his father expected him to be.

 

He sighed. That castle, is was lonely in a way he wasn’t used to.

He’d met lone masters before, secluded in the mountains, isolated in the wild for the sake of art and purity, but those houses still had an aura of life, strong, vibrant. There was a peculiar color to a loneliness that was bursting with love for mankind ; a hue so warm you could never feel alone as long as you basked in its light.

Those walls, however, and this beautiful wooden door carved with symbols only his encyclopedical knowledge of ancient religion had allowed him to recognize, reflected a shade so cold it was as if life itself was afraid to go in.

His fingers caresses the intricate carvings. It was a tale of angels and demons, summarized beautifully with only a few key scenes. For the first time in a while, he wants to smile – such simplistic stories were charming with candor, and this one was not exception. He takes the time to admire the depiction of the Emperor of the Heavens descending to earth, and kneels to revel in the intricacy of the last element of the story – a portrait of the Emperor losing his wings, condemned to a life of misery on earth.

 

It was hard, letting old habits die. Though he didn’t expect the castle to be home to many secrets, nor did he hold an immense interest for pagan tales, there seemed to be at least a few thing worth observing in this castle.

And it wasn’t home, where his youth would be declared dead and buried in royal duties, along with every chance he’d ever had to dream of a life bigger than this, his chance to write himself into a truly wonderful book.

The pages would be torn away and rewritten into a boring political drama, every character a stereotype, every word, a repeat.

 

He knocks on the door with determination.

It is opened within the second by a polite-looking butler – immediatly, he feels self-conscious about his own intense expression and tones it down, settling into a more serious, princely facade.

\- His royal highness prince Hasumi, I presume ? The man asks, inviting him in with a graceful gesture of the hand.

\- Were you expecting me ? He answers, in utter disbelief.

The butler smiles, and he can’t help but think his expression is more scary than welcoming. His eyes linger a little longer, detailing the butler’s spotless uniform, deep, rich black velvet sewn with exquisite care, and noticing the grandiose hall behind him, adorned with white marble of the most expensive kind.

Whoever owned this place had both money and taste – and more than a bit of foresight, it seemed.

\- The prince likes to keep track of important personalities such a your own, your Highness, and it is only fitting for his servants to remain knowledgeable as well ! He explains, loosening a little as he gets to describe his master. Shall I escort you to his chambers, or would you like to rest your head first ? I may also provide any dinner you desire, but it might take some times, as I am the only employee of this house at the moment.

He ticks on that last sentence, but decides not to acknowledge it, almost relieved to know he wouldn’t have to deal with an annoying court this time. The butler, no matter how unsettling he’d been on first sight, was rather agreeable and polite, dispending his words sparingly.

\- I would like to meet the prince.

\- Please follow me, your Highness.

 

The air is cold in every room despite the closed windows ; the decorations, extravagant, different everytime they cross a door, mixing in so many styles and eras it raises some of his curiosity. Such a collection would the work of not one, but several lifetimes, and the estimated cost exceeded any fortune he knew, yet it was there, unguarded, tempting even his righteous heart. Just one painting – wouldn’t be missed, would it ?

\- Our prince doesn’t usually accept visitors, prince Hasumi, the butler suddenly declares, as they walk together through long white corridors.

\- Why is that ?

He tries to remain calm, even though the remark is nothing short of a masked threat, and a new piece to this enigmatic puzzle as well. He blames himself for underestimating this place at first – maybe, there wouldn’t be much valuable to learn, no rare artifacts he hadn’t heard of before, but this situation was so close to a gothic novel’s first chapter he had no choice but to stay, at least, for a little while.

Good stories were a rare occurrence in life and he would delight himself in this one. In the butler’s well-kept secrets – who was he, to be left alone in care of a such a mysterious fortune ? - and in whatever the prince had to offer.

He, would didn’t accept visitors yet awaited him somehow.

\- His royal highness is… ill, he finally answers after a pause, and does not wish to make any unnecessary bonds with the living during the little time he has left.

\- Your master is a pessimist then, he comments, unphased, repressing the smile that had begun forming on his lips.

 

A cough echoes from afar. Their own steps make an awful lot of sound on the marble floor, as they finally come to face what seems to be the door to the prince’s bedroom. All around it, he notices, medical instruments, bottles of herbal remedies and other potions are stored. There is also a basket for dirty laundry – all of it is bloodstained white sheets.

The butler’s expression is grim for an instant, but he composes himself before opening the door.

The first cough he hears is quiet, polite in its own pain, but quickly worsens into something that cannot be suppressed so easily, until red drops find their way on the floor, far away from him, yet strikingly clear.

 

\- Has death finally arrived ? How kind of you, Yuzuru, to let it in, a voice declares, hoarse, before the coughing resumes.

The prince is laying in a large canopy bed. The drapings around him are white. His silhouette – frail, thin, sickly.

He considers his chance to back away now, to leave this dying man to his misery but doesn’t. The voice he’d heard had been too beautiful, almost otherwordly ; the tone, too, entrancing, with an arrogance he hadn’t expected at all from someone living in the white page of a life that was destined to have no end nor beginning, only an everlasting middle, narrating a tale with no adventure as he stained his floor with this ink of red.

He was intrigued.

\- However, I would like to finish my tea first ; I will not be taken by a death so rude it doesn’t respect a dying man’s last wishes and his beautiful tea ceremonial, the prince continues, and his voice betrays excitment.

How odd, he thinks to himself, taking a few steps to reach the left side of the bed and face the man who, indeed, was taking a few sips from a deeply fragrant tea, recovering from his violent cough ; and showing, truly, no concern from his own health.

It was easy to see just how little hope he had left in his own survival ; in his tired eyes, and his slightly too long hair, whose blond strands still fell gracefully around his delicate features. He could have been beautiful had he not been dying – and maybe he was, nonetheless, in a most morbid way.

\- I am no death, prince, he declares, taking a seat next to the grandiose bed.

\- I know, arrogant man. But you play god all the same, so it’s only fair I should be allowed a little bit of fun with you, don’t you think ?

 

The dying prince giggles, and for a second, he sounds young, and – powerful, as a child on top of his sand castle would. He cannot take his eyes off him for a second.

He’d encountered more than one odd man in his travels ; most of them had been fascinating in one way or another, but… the prince’s laughter fills the room like nothing else ever did, spreading like gold dust, glimmering in the dimmed light coming from the large windows, as if it was trying to capture the sun itself.

It’s an odd shine.

A truly unique one.

 

\- I’ll let you know I have followed your adventures from afar, prince know-it-all. As you tired your eyes reading books with no stories and taught yourself all those sports I’ll never be able to even try. You really do think you know all there is to life, don’t you ? I wonder why you’d even stop at my door when you’re so sure I’m gonna bore you already.

 

He laughs again, but there is not gold dust this time, only sharp angles meant to wound his ego, as he realizes the dying prince words are nothing but mockery ; which wouldn’t bother him, if only it didn’t hit in such a sensitive place, if only he didn’t feel so see-through as this stranger guessed his thoughts with incredible ease. He wasn’t wrong, calling him out on his arrogance– but he was always under the impression that he’d earned his rights as a « know-it-all ».

No volumes ever published were foreign to him. Being a fast reader, since the youngest age, he’d simply absorbed everything, to the point where the ignorance of those around him had quickly become a burden. That’s how his quest had started. Slowly making his way through the world, he’d robbed men and women alike of their unique knowledges, and their rarest skills.

This was the only method he knew to make life bearable. Learning, endlessly, running away from the inevitable boredom, from the conversations he could predict the end of after the first word had barely been uttered.

The prince also wasn’t wrong thinking he expected little of him and his lonely little castle. Sure, the art was a nice touch, the butler, a pleasant riddle to solve, but those were shallow things to take interest in, the material of good stories rather than the fabric of intriguing knowledge.

 

Still, it was annoying, to be one step behind – when he, however, couldn’t guess the Prince’s intentions at all.

It wasn’t all that surprising, for he’d simply never been in the same situation as him. He’d caught a few minor diseases along the road, but those were easy to cure with his medical knowledge and resilient body. Pain was a temporary inconvenience, never strong enough to leave a mark on his body, never so ruthless to make a lasting change on his behaviour.

Illness was everywhere, the shadow of every single one of the Prince gestures, so it only made sense for him to made no sense at all ; but it was too much to bear for an all-knowing prince.

It got on his nerves and made him feel like a fool when he was nothing of the sort.

 

 

\- What do you have to teach me ? He asks, out of patience, almost shouting.

 

The prince winces a little, lying back on his bed, as if the loud noise had exhausted him, and, staring at the ceiling, laughs again. Once more, the miracle from earlier happens, he sees gold dust in the sound, a faint mirage that fades slowly, leaving his eyes almost longing for that radiance. It’s ridiculous – no music, even the most beautiful concerto, could produce such an illusion. He was tired, probably, and his mind desperatly attempting to keep him focused with silly tricks like these, making him see gold among the white nothing of this room.

There was no way it was real ; and yet, the prince laughs so more, gold shines in the air again, and he wonder what exactly about this man is driving him crazy.

 

\- Me ? He begins, quickly stopped by a new bloody coughing fits.

He suppresses his own urge to rush to the medecine he’d seen in the room before this one and try to arrange some kind of remedy. First, because he’s unsure of the exact nature of the prince’s illness.

Second, because his smile, through bloodied lips, is dazzling, and his blue eyes, aflame, bursting with an impetuosity unexpected for someone edging so close to death, a holy fire of sort that catches him in its flame and prevents him from looking away.

\- I can teach you of a boredom you’ve never known, arrogant man, the prince declares, hitting every syllable with precision.

Pretending to feel nothing at all as blood drips on the word ; inhabited by a spirit stronger than the death clawing at him, he had begun to look different, scarier. Grandiose in his decadence ; he was leaning forward, staring at him.

Trying to withstand this powerful gaze made him feel uneasy.

 

\- Stay by my side and you will learn how to live in white stillness as if it was full with the buzzing of life. Stay by my side, and ! You will forget of all joy and sadness alike. With me, you’ll forget even time.

 

The prince was frightfully young, he realized.

Too young to speak such morbid words.

 

\- But my teachings cannot be done hastily, and you’ll sacrifice precious years of your youth to something that has no worth nor meaning to a well-educated heir such as you, I’m afraid.

\- I accept your offer with glee, he answers before the prince has any chance to add more, shaking his free hand with a smile.

 

Through he hates himself for it in the next second ; for feeling excited by this riddle, by this dying man and his lonely castle, for falling so easily for a story rather than a genuine promise, but looking at the prince erases all doubts.

There he was, a protagonist in all his glory – he couldn’t leaving alone without witnessing the turn of his last page.

 

\- Besides, he feels obligated to add, I know medecine. I will be here for a month at most, dear prince.

\- I guarantee you will see autumn leaves fall from this very window, and rise anew the next year, and the year after that… prince Keito, he concludes with a little smile.

 

He makes a gesture for him to leave him alone – he obliges, only to be welcomed by the butler as he descends the staircase, but the image of the prince lingers in his mind.

Tainted with red and gold.


	2. Chapter 2

The prince’s name, he learns during the next day’s teatime, is Eichi Tenshouin ; but that’s not the most interesting information he gathers from their first casual conversation.

The prince gives a convoluted, unconvincing answer to justify his wondrous art collection ; a very interesting explanation about his castle’s desolated state, a tale so heartfelt, truly, he could have believed it for a second – had he not been on edge already – and, to end it, pieces together a nice family story meant to satiate even the most curious guest, perfectly paced with funny, almost-genuine anedcotes that leave in his awe for all the wrong reasons.

The man in front of him was a liar of unrivaled talent.

He almost wanted to believe in those fancy fabricated truths, everytime his eyes met the prince’s pale blue ones, everytime he heard that delicate golden laugh of his ; it was just too easy, to be dragged into this ideal world, to orbit around his stellar presence and forget the point of his visit, simply drinking the ambrosia off his lips as he enonced more of those sparkly, beautiful lies that flowed like crystalline water and dissipated into air all the same once he’d figured out the treachery.

It was a dangerous exercise, talking to the sick man, draining his energy quicker than the most intense sword training.

More frightening was the fact that the prince was perfectly aware that he wasn’t fooling him one bit. Eichi seemed to amuse himself in watching him fight back his urge to believe, deciding to say contradictory sentences at the exact moment he was about to let go and let himself fall in love with his stories – no matter how false they were, in this end, his voice was soft and melodic enough to make his web of lies the perfect soft spot for his tired mind to rest on.

 

He drinks the last drop of his tea and excuses himself to the library ; the prince smiles and waves him goodbye as his butler appears – out of thin air, it seems – to take the cups and uneaten cakes away. He wanted to question that man too, sometimes ; but for now, what he genuinely longed for was the silence of an empty place.

He’d fallen asleep in the castle’s immense library the night before and woken up covered in blankets, his head resting against a small pillow, the butler pretending to be oblivious when he’d tried to thank him for this kind attention. Even though a luxious suite had been arranged for him, there was nowhere he wanted to stay tmore than here, among the many books of interest he’d found. It was his home in every foreign place ; the kingdom he wished to rule over, where no war would ever be fought, no civilian killed or starved by an unkind tyrant.

A heaven of reason and truth, fitting for his high aspirations.

 

Through he felt a weird kind of guilt, leaving the prince alone. He was going to die, soon – and forcing answers out of him was an even bigger challenge, presented with such a strict time limit. He had to play his cards fast, yet without looking overeager or falling prey to the Eichi’s wide arsenal of charming tricks and alluring lies.

He studies again until late into the night. The library is perfect, the best feature of this castle by far – there’s several floors, endlessly filled by bookshelves upon bookshelves, and even if the organization has room for improvement, he finds what he’s looking for with ease. The rows of book are familiar in a way he can’t explain, the order illogical resonating with his own experience somehow, an invisible hand guiding him through the endless maze, straight to the rarest treasures.

Most of it is pagan tales, as he’d expected, but he picks a few medical tomes along the way, including some he’d already read before, just to make sure. The prince’s illness was nothing he knew too well ; still, it was his duty to try to help and try to relieve the young man’s pain as long as he intruded upon his domain and abused his only butler’s attention.

His eyes fails to stay open as he rereads the tale he’d seen on the wooden door the first day – the rise and fall of the Emperor of the Heavens, written in a langage that had seen no use in almost a century – and sleep takes over quickly.

The blanket and the pillow are there again when he wakes up ; but the butler denies strongly, and he gives the prince a suspicious look the next time they meet.

 

 

The first month goes by too quickly for him to even notice.

Maybe it’s the library’s fault, for being so endless, even though he finishes books at lightning speed and takes notes just as fast ; maybe it’s the isolation, that cuts him from all correct perception of time between hours spent in the dark-lit environnement of books and the rest, at the prince’s bedside, never to be interrupted by pesky domestics or any kind of royal duty. Most of all, he thinks, it’s the relentless challenges thrown at him.

It’s been thirty days – and he knows nothing valuable about the Eichi, save for his taste in porcelain teacups and what he enjoys eating for breakfast.

 

He feels his own habits, cemented in, after the second month, and the prince’s mocking gaze as he repeats the gestures of yesterday without even noticing it, picking the same tea blends over and over again despite the limitless choice thrown at him. Nonetheless, he’d made a few significant changes since he’d arrived, most of them Eichi’s fault – because it was stupid to seal himself away in the library when the main of interest of the house was on the brink of death and regularly joking about it on top of that. He brought whichever book interested him to Eichi’s room instead, Yuzuru – they were starting to be on good terms with one other - even going so far as to install a small desk to accomodate him right next to the canopy bed.

Sometimes, when the prince was especially whiny, and he had allowed himself to get sucked too deep into the pagan tales he was studying, he slept by his side, under the delicate white sheets. Eichi pretexted that human warmth was good for whatever he was suffering from – his symptoms, varying day to day between whatever served his hidden motives the best – and he obliged, because walking to his own room after sitting for eight hours seemed like the most daunting task in the world.

Eichi’s body was cold, fragile, and shaken by night terrors beyond his understanding.

But habits were quick to settle, out of control, and by the sixth month – he couldn’t sleep nor eat without the prince by his side, and the books were starting to run out, almost as fast as his excuses for not having started a conversation before.

 

The first time he pushes his notes aside to engage in a casual talk, Eichi smiles, and gold dust flies in the air again, barely bright enough for him to believe its there, even though it’s been every single time the prince had bothered with being sincere, those occurrences rare and rarer since the first time they’d met.

He blamed it solely on himself – for running away in the world of the familiar and the common whenever the story became too demanding and too scary, when the prince’s eyes got fiery and he knew he was about to be taught something he had no desire to know up close. He was disappointing as a pupil and as a friend, too – Eichi obviously enjoyed his company, whenever he indulged in the conversations the sick prince was trying to start. As bedridden as he was, the prince had a lot to talk about, a childish curiosity for the outside world than no amount of book had been able to satiate.

It took long afternoons to paint a picture satisfying enough to put an end to his questions – he cursed himself, for indulging in useless doodles like this just to fill a fool’s last wishes – and the questioning cames back the next day, more pressing, almost sorrowful too, touching up every subjects possible. Biology, philosophy, culinary arts – it was neverending.

Sometimes, to complete his lessons, he escorted the prince outside ; those were, without a doubt, the most painful moments.

Eichi couldn’t move without help, and needed to be carried down the stairs before being allowed a short walk to the garden – even if, really, any reasonable doctor who have rushed him back to his bed the moment he’d seen him struggle to make the first step ; but all he could do was bring him closer to the roses he so dearly wished to know, and let him bask in the smell, let him smile and spread that brilliance on a world that didn’t deserve such a pure shine.

His existence itself made everything else seemed unfair.

And all he could do was provide help to Yuzuru whenever Eichi fainted on the grass and woke up with aches so violent the next days were spent sleeplessly waiting by his bedside, bringing remedies to his lips as he begged for death to take him away.

A plea he laughed off with ease the moment he recovered - « I’m never gonna die, Keito » he smiled through bloodied lips.

 

The anniversary of the first year takes him by surprise, when he finds Eichi asleep, fingers still laying on the blue ribbon of an unfinished bouquet, and he begins to realize, just how foolish he’d been, standing at the same place, so long ago it seemed like an era had passed. Indeed, the autumn leaves had become soil, and this soil, the fertile grounds for new trees to grow, the energy for the blooming flowers they’d admired together as he rested by this very window, pretending not to care about the story unfolding, making no effort, however, to stop it before it had become too late. Before he couldn’t bring himself to ever go back home.

There was no book left, but – the riddle, so peaceful in his sleep, was a much heavier shackle to bear and he fought back the urge to ask, just who are you ? to the slumbering figure, appreciating its beauty instead. Eichi, in his quietest moments, looked as if he was made of gold and angel tears, a form barely held together by the wishes and prayers of mankind as suffering kept viciously spreading further.

 

The next ten years are nothing but a heartbeat, and the sounds of pages flipped over rapidly by an avid reader – everything about the prince is home, everything about the prince is a reason to wake up even though it shouldn’t, he should have grown bored long ago, but the story of Eichi’s life kept him on edge, as he received small truths as offerings for him to stay just a while longer.

Sometimes, Eichi’s voice was too pleading for his own liking and he suppressed his violent desires, to say words unbefitting of a runaway prince, to make a declaration – sentences that would have drastically changed the tone, from a mistery novel to something much less dignified.

He held him close at nights nonetheless, to keep him warm, and because they were becoming old friends – never once had he seen a visitor in these walls. Eichi received mail regularly and made him write his answers sometimes – lately, even holding a spoon was too hard – so he’d become familiar with some colorful characters, but neither Leo nor Tsumugi seemed to be intending on showing up anytime soon.

It was their own Eden, after the fall and before the rise of life.

Eichi’s laugh was enough to keep him interested in anything and nothing at all.

 

 

\- How long have I been here ? He asks, gazing upon the winter landscape through the bedroom’s largest window.

His own hair has begun to turn the color of snow ; and the trees, the shape of the hills so far away were almost too familiar to him, the way they spread out in the perfect, calmest view. He had begun to forget the lands of his previous travels, the world he’d journeyed through so thoroughly – it was only faint memories now, as if his life had been nothing before reaching Eichi’s palace, only a vague dream he’d woken up from the moment his eyes had gazed upon the prince’s bloodied sheets.

He was an old man already, each step drawing him closer to his end – sometimes, he struggled to walk up the long staircase that lead to Eichi’s floor, sometimes, just sometimes, he fell ill and pretended to be absorbed into his research to avoid raising his concerns as he avoided his company for several days, and sometimes, more than often, he lied, for the sake of protecting Eichi.

The prince’s youth was untouched.

\- I don’t know days from centuries, old friend, he whispers.

\- Are you ever gonna die ?

 

He turns away from the window to sit next to him. He’d begun to understood, early on, solving the riddle with the strictest methods, slaving away at his desk to make sense of symbols and distorted tales, deciphering every book in the library and drawing the inevitable conclusions, but, more than logic, Eichi’s smile as he solved his perfect puzzle, the mess he made of his notes whenever he checked in on his progress, feigning ignorance, had been an assurance that he was following the right path, his rational side getting in the way at times as he learned to believe in angels, faeries, and everything that required a childish heart to trust in wholeheartedly.

The world depicted in those worn-out books was too beautiful for his jaded heart ; he’d had to undo his own restraints, leaving his common sense being, as he took a few hesitant steps into a wonderland so vast it rendered his entire knowledge meaningless.

There were a few missing pieces in the Emperor’s tale, and the descriptions often contradicted themselves, nothing that confirmed the legendary character to be a blond, slightly mischevious young man, but there were mention of an aura – a golden hue of holyness around him, and that was enough to keep him going, as he spent long afternoons looking for clues in the castle’s architecture itself, hints in Eichi’s collection of artworks, sorting everything chronologically, thematically, and ultimately giving into his gut feeling as he connected the dots.

Everything made sense, even if he didn’t want it to, even if he’d known since the beginning the first laugh – that he was in a fairytale, the only place befitting of two princes.

Eichi sits upright and caresses his silver hair, with a fond smile – his fingers are as thin as always.

He’d never gained a pound, in spite of the lavish meals they’d shared and his unreasonable sweet tooth, but he’d come to realize why. His hunger was expertedly faked. Eichi didn’t need food, nor tea to survive. It helped, a little, provided him with momentary energy but ultimately made no difference – that’s why, in those three decades, he’d forgotten more than once, and he’d noticed.

Just how good the prince’s acting was when it came to mimicing humans.

 

\- I tried a thousand times… he begins, in a tone of sincere regrets.

He’d never seen him so solemn. Off course, as long as he remained by his side and dedicated himself to that princely role, he never could let too much of his seriousness show ; it would have helped him too much in his quest, to catch him acting like an emperor just for a second.

Ultimately, he could only be sincere when there was no doubt left in his mind, as the trick had been revealed and the magic undone, leaving the sickly man vulnerable, his broken wings exposed for all to see.

Only now was he allowed to witness the real Eichi Tenshouin, eyes clouded with sorrow.

\- For you, for Yuzuru too, he adds, letting out a sad little laugh. I couldn’t bear to see you stay, but the curse remained all the same, as I fell everytime I tried to fly.

He laughs again, but this time, he can see the shadow of good memories in his sky-blue eyes, the freedom of a soaring angel, of a half-god as he watched over crowds of mindless mortals under his care, oh – the joy to be alive, fully, without any chains holding him down to this miserable earth, he’d missed it every second, that much was obvious.

His questions betrayed him everytime.

 

\- Your teaching … he murmurs, trying to move away from Eichi, it isn’t boredom, is it ?

 

He remains on the bed, close yet far enough to gaze at him in full, his perfect pale skin, his messy hair – he’d become his very definition of beauty through the years. There was no use denying his fascination for the fake prince sitting next to him, the love he felt as they slept together, fingers intertwined, in quiet agreement.

Eichi would never make the first move, because eternity and more belonged to him, and because Eichi seemed to enjoy that pain too, as he coughed and choked and puked and pretended it was fine not to be loved back, or rather, to be the object of a cowardly love for so long.

Only today, catching his aging reflection in the window’s glass had he found the courage to break the silence ; because a fear even bigger than rejection had taken over in his heart, the sound of the castle’s old clock resounding in his ears, telling the tale of how, in a heartbeat, in a short wink, his life was over already, wasted away, foolishly.

 

Eichi doesn’t grasp the gravity of their tragedy – laughing, as always.

 

\- Oh ! I hope not. I tried to remain delightfully entertaining for you. As you pretended to be allknowing at age 20, I had no choice but… to turn myself into a beautiful riddle for my prince.

 

He sounds happy ; it drives him mad. Dealing with him awakened so much bottled anger he sometimes wondered how he’d avoided punching him more than once in all those years.

 

\- What was it, then ? He asks, deeply annoyed.

\- Does it beat, Keito ? Eichi answers, putting his palm against his chest.

 

He’s leaning forward, with all the strength his weak body allows, and slides down to put his ear next to his heart, in the most mockful manner – yet, he blushes all the same, and finds himself ridiculous, at such an old age, to be acting like a teenager when it was already too late. He’d made sure to know of love early on, just to check out all of the boxes on his to-do list where romance was nothing but another topic to master, just like sex too, and once he’d been satisfied with a few kisses, a few exciting nights, he’d considered it done, a book to put back on the shelvesf and forget.

A mistake among many, as Eichi had picked up right where he left off, making fun of his immense ignorance, he did not know of love, of longing for another man’s gaze, for the warmth against his chest, he did not know of its pain, of holding one’s hair above the toilets as he choked on his own spit, of watching over his sleep, afraid death would take his most valuable treasure.

 

\- It does, he admits begrudgingly.

\- Then you’ve received my teachings and stored them where they belong, Eichi concludes gleefully. You know that life is not in those books of yours, that life has nothing to do with those skills you collected like worthless coins in your already immense fortune.

 

He feels sick to the core, and a million protests cross his minds, how did he dare talk like this, as if he was already buried deep underground, as if there was no story left – as if this had been nothing but a farce meant to teach him out of his old ways when he’d learned so much more and simply couldn’t let go.

He wouldn’t accept it, ever – even if it meant drawing the next pages himself, breaking out his vow, to be nothing but a shadow on the sideline, to never let himself dream, to put his paint and aspirations aside in a closed drawer, he’ll let them out again, just to make Eichi see beyond the clouds that obscured his eyes.

 

\- You know that this untamed beat… is more important than that, the sick man continues, caressing the fabric of his shirt.

This time, he pushes him away firmly.

\- And what are you gonna do now, imbecile ? He yells in anger.

 

Eichi jumps back.

It is the pitiful last effort of an old man at death’s door ; a pathetic gamble, from someone who’d only ever gambled once, in this very room, when a sick young fool had dared him to throw away everything for the beauty of a puzzle game, and he’d say yes just to spite him and his beautiful eyes.

The last move of an idiotic genius, who could recite volumes upon volumes of poetry and guessed the ending of mystery novels after their first page, but was ultimately unable to guess the fine mechanics of an Emperor’s mind after having offered him his entire life.

\- What are you gonna do… now that it beats for you ? He admits, defeated.

\- I didn’t plan that far ahead, I’m afraid, Eichi answers, as if he’d been ready for this question decades ago.

He yanks on the collar of his pijama shirt and tries to forget for a second that he’s old, much uglier than the beautiful man he’s about to kiss, and focus on the instant their lips touch, Eichi’s as soft as a feather, a brief taste of heaven that lingers as they both ease into it a little more, fingers buried against each other’s neck, both clumsy and experts at the same time, experiencing a world both new and familiar, ultimately lost as they closed their eyes and gave up their make-believe fights.

 

His opens again, however, as a violent aches strikes his body and the air begins to burn around him.

It’s a quick process, as he’s taken over – magic alters everything, and the face he’s staring at becomes clearer as his eyesight regresses to what it was in his twenties, but the rest of his health degrades in the span of seconds. He feels exhausted beyond anything he’d ever experience, and breathing only becomes more difficult – yet his skin, his skin loses all of the spots, the wrinkles, and he’s young again, just as much as he’s dying, tears falling down as sitting become an all-consumming task and Eichi, expertedly, lays him down in the canopy bed.

Even his heart struggles to beat, but it’s nothing in comparison of the feeling breathing provides him ; it’s as if a thousand swords were piercing his chest.

Eichi watches in shock.

 

\- It cannot be...

\- Don’t you think someone as arrogant as me wouldn’t know how to break a curse ? He manages to say, still gasping for air.

 

It’s the first time he’d seen his fake prince panic. The spectacle is rather entertaining, even in this state - slowly, he finds a rythm, a way to dull the pain, focusing on what had happened just before it to make the edge of the swords piercing his body just a little less sharp and more tolerable.

It’s still hell, but he likes it somehow ; especially when he sees just how much vigor his beloved has regained in just two minutes. His skin was a more vivid, human-like color, and he’d never seen him so agitated in forty years, so lively it made his lips turn into a smile almost against his will.

 

\- You… just read too many fairytales ! Eichi shouts. You didn’t break it ! It’s just ! Just...

\- Split evenly, he concludes as a new type of pain reaches his lungs.

 

The first cough is polite, restrained, trying to wish itself out of existence, but the ones that follow messily stain the bedsheets and blur his vision. He tastes iron over and over again – noticing that Eichi had left the bed to fetch medical supplies only when he comes back and applies cold water to his forehead. He brings a drink he doesn’t recognize to his mouth, but he obliges without even thinking.

The pain calms down – still there, like white noise, but he could bear it.

With him by his side.

 

\- I hope you’ll kiss that blood off my lips everyday, as a repentance for your needless lies.

\- I will, Eichi declares with the utmost gravity.

The words are gold embroided on silver air ; and for a second, he sees Eichi’s severed wings, spread beautifully in his back, he sees the glorious Emperor taking a vain mortal man in his care, vowing to protect him without fail.

He see them fall apart, too, as Eichi presses a soft kiss against his lips, and the feathers are carried by the winter wind, they fall on the floor and disappear like… golden dust, mixed in with the laugh he’d grown to cherish.

 

And ever since, in the loneliest castle of them all, two men continue to live together joyfully, enjoying a life of exquisite boredom, gazing at the same old trees through century-old windows, finding bliss in the last teaching they had for one other.

Immortal love.


End file.
